Lies and the lying liars who tell them

I think what gets to me is the lies. Constant, constant lies. Shaving with three blades instead of two won't really make me more attractive to women. The shampoo won't really give you multiple orgasms. Whether John Kerry deserves those medals doesn't really matter. It's not really nice to meet you: it might be, or you might be a moron, or a braggart, or a racist, I don't know yet. The food in the box doesn't really look like that, because I know and you know the food in the photograph has been painted and lacquered and retouched in Photoshop. Yes, those pants really do make your ass look big. No, I really don't like how you redid your kitchen. I'm not really fine.

We lie all day, to others and to ourselves. Where did reality go?